


Eyeliner and Cigarettes

by ladymac111



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Fashion & Couture, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, eventual slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/ladymac111
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a makeup artist -- a damn good one, if he's honest -- who specializes in concealer and works runway shows for one of London's up-and-coming menswear designers.  His life is ordinary, maybe even boring, until a dragon of a model drops into his chair and changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Model

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea how much of this there will be. I've got some vague ideas.
> 
> I have done a bit of stage makeup in the past, but everything I know about the fashion world I learned from The Devil Wears Prada and Zoolander (and a few other movies and TV shows). There will probably be errors, but if you comment on them, there's a very good chance I'll fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music video for this chapter: [Fashion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rH7PWILozYQ).

 

John was taking inventory of his brushes when a dark-haired model dropped gracelessly into his makeup chair and took a long drag on a cigarette.

John stared for a moment in disbelief. “Hello.”

“Hm.” The man's eyes were closed, and he exhaled smoke through his nose like a dragon. It curled around his sharp cheekbones.

John blinked, and decided to try a different tactic. “You're a bit early. Call isn't for an hour.”

The model's eyes blinked open, and John was stunned for a moment at the quicksilver colour of his irises. “They said I should come to you first thing,” he rumbled lazily, lifting the cigarette back to his lips.

“You must be new, then. They don't mean an entire hour early.”

“In this case, they do,” he said, irritation creeping into his voice. “I was told specifically. They said you might need extra time for this.” He tilted his head to the right, and John looked in the mirror at the large purple-red mark on the underside of his jaw.

He moved around the chair to get a closer look. Close-up, the mark was raised and slightly rough. “What the hell is that?”

“Violin hickey. They said you could cover it up.”

“Yes, well ...” John sighed. “Just hang on a minute.” He pushed the curtain aside and stalked into the large staging area that was starting to fill with hurrying staff members. “Greg!” he shouted.

“Yeah, what?” A silver-haired man with a clipboard appeared from behind a rack. “Oh, John. You've met Sherlock then?”

“You mean the dragon with the giant scar on his neck? Yeah, he's in my chair right now. They seriously want me to cover that?”

Greg shrugged. “You're the best concealer artist in the city, mate.”

“But where'd they dig this guy up? I've never seen him before.”

“He's Victor's muse or something. Look, it wasn't up to me. Victor said he wants you to do Sherlock up. Cover the thing and everything else, then send him off to hair when you're done. He emailed you a photo for the makeup, didn't you get it?”

John groaned and pulled out his phone – still on silent, and sure enough, there was an email from Victor two hours ago introducing Sherlock Holmes and outlining his vision of the makeup, complete with his signature “You know what I mean, right? Wonderful.” that John hated so much. Of course he could always interpret what Victor wanted, but it was frustrating, and doubly so when it was last-minute.

“You'd better get back in there and get started,” Greg said, glancing at his clipboard. “When you're done with Sherlock you've got some tattoos to cover on a few of the other lads.”

“Lovely,” John muttered, and turned back into the makeup area as Greg vanished. “So by _they_ you meant Victor, I understand,” he said to Sherlock.

The dark-haired man looked at him in the mirror. “Victor thinks we have some sort of deep emotional connection. It's just a job to me, really. Pays a bit better than the opera pit, at the very least. Might even be interesting.”

John scowled. “Just hold still and let me work, then. I'm to do your entire makeup, not just the concealer job, so it'll take a bit longer. Shirt off, and put out that cigarette. I don't like being poisoned at work.”

Sherlock dropped his cigarette butt in John's mug of tepid coffee and pulled his shirt over his head. John found a large salon clip in the bottom of his bag and used it to secure the man's curly hair on top of his head, then turned and tilted him so he had the best lighting on the large blemish on his neck. “Victor didn't give you this, then?”

“No, as I said, it's from playing the violin.”

“Hm.” John selected several colours from his kit and held them next to Sherlock's face, trying to guess the right shade for his milky complexion. Most of the models were pale, but few went quite this far. “You said Victor thinks you have some deep emotional connection. You two together?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Hardly. Not in years, anyway. We had a bit of a thing when we were at university, but I hadn't heard from him since I graduated. Not until two weeks ago, when he came down to the pit during an intermission of _The Magic Flute_ and practically begged me to come model for him.”

John selected a brush and started dabbing it into a pot. “So you play for the opera?”

“Sometimes. I'm only a substitute.”

“What do you do the rest of the time?”

“I'm a consulting detective.” His voice rumbled in John's ear as he leaned in to get a close look at the mark on Sherlock's neck.

John ran a finger over the slightly scaly surface of the thing and bit his lip. This was going to be difficult. “What does a consulting detective do?”

“I solve the puzzles the police can't.”

“That must be fun.”

“You have no idea.” John could hear the smile in his voice. “Doesn't pay as well as one would hope, though. Hence the substitute violinist gigs with the opera and ballet. And this.”

John leaned back against the counter as he continued looking at the mark. “You really ought to take better care of that thing. It almost looks like you've got some contact dermatitis compounding the scarring, on top of the surface bruising. I wouldn't be surprised if there's damage to the deeper tissues as well.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “You sound like a medical man.”

John gave him a little smile before he reached for a sponge wedge. “There's more to me than meets the eye.”

“Clearly.” His eyes flashed over John as he went back to work. “You went to medical school. Didn't graduate, though. Joined the army for a bit, probably out of some sort of rebellion. I'd guess against your father, it's the most likely. Only one tour of duty. You're something of a latecomer into the world of makeup artistry, and you're happy with your job but frustrated that you've become pigeonholed.”

John froze, then slowly leaned back and looked Sherlock in the eye. “Who the hell have you been talking to? Not even Victor knows I went to med school.”

“I don't need to be told, it's all right there on you.” Sherlock smirked. “How much did I get?”

“Bloody well all of it.” John couldn't help but stare at him. “How the hell did you do that?”

“It's my job. The one that doesn't pay very well. I see what others don't and I make the connections they can't.”

“That's brilliant.”

Surprise stole over Sherlock's features. “That's not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up. “'Piss off.'”

A laugh bubbled out of John's chest, and he grinned at Sherlock, whose eyes sparkled as he mirrored it. “Bloody brilliant,” John murmured, returning his attention to the side of Sherlock's neck. “So the med school thing was easy, I outed myself there. How'd you know I was in the army?”


	2. The Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I've got some ideas, but no concrete plans. Bear with me, please!
> 
> Also ... I realize Ben Nye is an American brand and probably not available in the UK, but I have a lot of experience with their products. Perhaps John orders it special?

The show was finally over, and John was cleaning his brushes when Victor burst through the curtain with a huge smile on his face. “Johnny! That was _brilliant_!” He embraced John and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “You are _absolutely_ the best makeup artist I've ever known.”

John removed himself gently. Victor was a good employer, but a bit flamboyant for John's taste, especially right after a show. “I can't take all the credit. Ben Nye make excellent foundations.”

“Don't be so modest. I know I shouldn't have thrown Sherlock at you last-minute, but he looked magnificent.”

John blushed a little. “Thank you. He was a bit of a challenge, but I'm happy with how it turned out. He wasn't too pale? I was half afraid he'd go out there and blind everyone.”

“No, no, it was perfect. They were only blinded by beauty.” Victor grinned at him. “Can you come by my studio on Monday morning, by the way? I've got a project to propose.”

“Sure, I suppose so.”

“Excellent! Sorry I've got to run, but I'll have Anderson call you with the details. Do come have some refreshments with us, won't you?”

And he left as abruptly as he had arrived, leaving John feeling a bit like he had just weathered a small natural disaster. He finished packing his things, pulled on his coat, and slipped out, carefully avoiding the after-party. On the dark pavement, the end of a cigarette glowed, and a familiar voice spoke. “Hello, John.”

“Sherlock.” He moved closer, and as his eyes adjusted, he could see the other man more clearly. “I'm surprised you're not at the party.”

“Can't stand parties,” Sherlock sighed, dropping the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with a patent-leather toe. “Pointless and noisy.”

“You're certainly not a typical model.”

“I'm not really a model at all.” Sherlock stuffed his hands into the pockets of his long coat and hunched his shoulders against the wind that was beginning to bite. “Would you like to get some dinner?”

John gave him a cheeky smile. “You asking me out?”

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. “I just thought you might be hungry too. I know you haven't had a break since before I arrived, and I thought I might like some company, and you're here, and you're not painfully dull.”

“I'm not sure whether to be complimented by that, or insulted.”

Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. “Don't be like that. Come on, there's a good Chinese place about half a mile away. You up for a bit of a walk?”

The restaurant was a tiny hole in the wall with poorly-translated English on the menu, and John was sceptical until the food arrived. Sherlock seemed to relax when it became clear that John was enjoying it. “Do you work for Victor often?”

“Occasionally,” John said, around a dumpling. “I've been doing all his shows for the past two years, but one designer's not enough to keep me gainfully employed. I do a lot of runway shows for other houses too, bigger names, but Trevor & Donovan is small enough that I'm well-known and I've got a bit more responsibility and leeway to be creative.”

Sherlock pushed some noodles around his plate. “Trevor & Donovan,” he said thoughtfully. “Donovan is another designer?”

John nodded. “Sally. From what I gather, she's more on the business and technical side of things, and Victor's more the artist. I haven't had much contact with her.” Sherlock chuckled at this. “What?”

He grinned conspiratorially and leaned back. “I know Sally Donovan, from university. I'm surprised Victor didn't mention her to me, actually. He had a bit of a platonic crush on her back then, but she wouldn't give him a second glance until I got together with him. By the time I met her properly it was clear she fancied herself in love with _me_ , which was terribly awkward. She and Victor became friends after I'd dumped him. Can't say I'm surprised they're still working together. As much as they annoy me, as a team they're quite good at what they do, based on what I saw tonight.”

“Hmm,” John agreed. “I don't know a lot about fashion but they do make good stuff. I would buy their ready-to-wear if I were about six inches taller and quite a lot posher.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I imagine that's why they're going to ask you to partner with them.”

John dropped one of his chopsticks. “They _what_?”

“They're going to ask you to partner with them, John. It's obvious, isn't it?”

“It's not obvious to me.”

Sherlock sighed. “Victor stopped in to see you after the show, and he invited you to come see him on Monday. He told me earlier they're planning to incorporate more special-effects makeup into their advertising and couture, and clearly they think you're the man for the job. They could do much worse, and frankly you'd be an idiot not to take their offer.”

John bristled at that. “I'd like to make my own decisions, thanks.”

“You're not happy living gig-to-gig.” Sherlock shovelled some noodles into his mouth, which gave John a few moments to accept that this was true and begin to wonder how Sherlock knew. “Partnering with Trevor & Donovan would not only give you stability, you would get the opportunity to expand your art. And as good as you are at making skin look perfect, I know you want more than that.”

“How could you know a thing like that? You've known me, what, a few hours?”

Sherlock leaned in. “It was obvious when you were working on me. You seemed almost bored when you were covering this.” He gestured to the red spot under his jaw. “But when you got going on the other makeup? It was like a veil lifted and you were really alive, even though it was relatively simple. I can only imagine how much more vibrant you'd be under your own direction.”

John remembered to breathe, and took a sip of water. “I didn't realize.”

“Most people don't.” Sherlock's demeanour had shifted back to the casual. “I'll be there on Monday as well. Victor wants me around for reasons I don't care to ponder; I imagine it will be crushingly dull. Hopefully you can lessen my boredom a bit.”

“Me? Why me?”

“I'm not sure.” Sherlock's voice was light, but his gaze was intense. “You're … much more interesting than you seem, John. It's very intriguing.”

John couldn't help but blush a little, and he managed to steer the conversation to less personal topics for the rest of their meal. Finally, they were back out on the street. “Where do you live?” Sherlock asked.

John gave him a lopsided smile. “Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking maybe we could share a cab, if it's on the way.”

“I was going to take the Tube, actually. I'm in Barking.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for another few steps before John cleared his throat. “Where do you live?”

“Just got a new place. Near Regent's Park.”

John whistled through his teeth. “Nice spot.”

“I'm looking for a flatmate, actually,” Sherlock said, conspicuously nonchalant. “The landlady's giving me a deal but it's still a bit much, and the place is big enough for two.”

John laughed. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Problem?”

John's laughter faded when he saw the earnestness in Sherlock's eyes. “It's just … we've only just met. We hardly know each other.”

“But,” Sherlock said, “it's extremely likely that we're about to become work colleagues, part-time at least. I'm looking for a flatmate, and I think you'd prefer to live closer. Win-win. Besides which, you already know I'm a smoker and a violinist, who therefore practices at home, and you didn't object to either of those.”

John decided not to say anything, but he rolled Sherlock's words around in his head until they arrived at the Tube station, where they paused. “Well, I'll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They hesitated for a moment, before John extended his hand and Sherlock shook it slightly awkwardly. “Good night, John.”

“Good night.”


	3. The Madman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John joins Trevor & Donovan, and learns how to antagonize his new flatmate.

It wasn't John's first visit to the Trevor & Donovan studio, but that didn't make it any less intimidating when Anderson distractedly waved him through into the room where he could hear Sherlock and Sally arguing animatedly.

“Ow! Be careful!”

“If you'd quit _squirming_ you wouldn't get stuck with pins.”

“But it's _uncomfortable_.”

“God's sake, Sherlock,” Victor said as he entered the room behind John. “I'd forgotten what an infant you can be sometimes.”

Sherlock turned despite Sally's loud protest, and his annoyed expression gave way to quiet delight when he saw John. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” John said. “Sorry, what exactly is going on here?”

“Oh, fittings.” Victor set a tray of coffee cups on a very cluttered desk by a window. “Sherlock's build is a bit different than the standard that we fit to, so Sally's got a bit of tailoring to do before next weekend.”

Sally stepped back from the model with an annoyed huff. “I'm not sure I can take much more of this, Victor. _Why_ did it have to be him? There's plenty of models who would love to do this for us, and who wouldn't make my life a living hell in the meantime.”

“Come on, Sally,” Victor said gently, bringing her a large cup of coffee that she accepted gracefully. “You know as well as I do how unique he is. And sure he's inexperienced, but he's a quick learner and he did agree to it.” He levelled his gaze at Sherlock. “You behave, all right? I want to keep you but I _will_ fire you if you can't cooperate.”

Sherlock scowled in response, but didn't say anything and held still when Sally went back to work.

Victor turned to John. “So sorry about that. Thanks so much for coming. Would you like some coffee? It's just black, I'm afraid, since I didn't know what you like.”

John took the seat that Victor offered, and accepted a cup. “Thanks. Black is how I like it.”

“Did you get one for me?” Sherlock called from across the room.

“When you're done,” Victor said. “That's silk.” He turned back to John with a smile. “Sherlock says he filled you in on the point of this meeting. I was rather hoping to tell you myself, but these things happen.”

“Well, I'm still interested in the details.”

Victor relaxed a bit. “Yes, I imagine you are. We were hoping that you would work with us full-time for a bit, designing makeup and body paint for our fall collection, and possibly beyond that. It would be a six-month contract to start, with a competitive salary and benefits ...”

Several hours later, they took a break for lunch, and as soon as Sherlock had pulled his own clothing back on he took John by the elbow and all but dragged him out of the building.

“You all right?”

“I'd forgotten how demanding Sally can be.”

John laughed at that. “Sally? You should have seen yourself, Sherlock. You're the fucking prima donna in the group.”

“I didn't expect to be manhandled all morning.”

“You're a model, it's in the job description. You're just a warm hanger for their fashions.”

“I almost wish I'd never agreed to it.”

“Only almost?”

“There is one bright spot in all this.” Sherlock pulled open the door to a little Italian cafe, and ushered John inside. They were seated immediately at a table in the window.

“And that bright spot is?”

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and draped it over an empty chair. “If I hadn't taken the job, I wouldn't have met you.”

“Oh, come on,” John scoffed. “You've only known me a couple of days.”

“And already I know I've never met anyone like you.” Sherlock scanned the menu quickly before setting it back down. “Have you considered my offer?”

“What offer?”

“The flat. My flat. Especially if you're going to be coming here every day, I imagine you'd want to be a bit closer.”

John licked his lips and glanced awkwardly at his hands. “I didn't realize it was a serious offer.”

“It was.”

“Well I know that _now_. Give me a bit more time to think, okay?”

“Would you like to stop by this afternoon when we're done? Just to see it.”

“I--” He took a deep breath. “All right. A visit's not a commitment, right?”

Sherlock smiled shyly. “Right.”

They chatted easily through their meal, then returned to the studio and passed the afternoon in much the same way as the morning. At four o'clock Victor decided they'd done enough, and John followed Sherlock to his flat in Baker Street. On the way in they met the landlady, a sweet older woman named Mrs Hudson. Sherlock introduced John as a new colleague who was thinking of taking the room upstairs, and then they went up the seventeen steps to 221B.

 

Five weeks later, Sherlock was lying on the couch with a thick textbook as John carried the last of his things up to his new bedroom on the second floor. “You could help out, you know,” he said.

“Mm. Busy.”

“What, with that awful experiment in the kitchen? I thought you'd finished with that last week.”

“It's a long-term decomposition study, John; one can't rush such things.”

John sighed, and wished that Sherlock had thought to mention this before the first time John had come around and fallen in love with the flat. It wasn't enough to make him change his mind, but it certainly made him nostalgic for military tidiness.

 

It wasn't long before John found a way to get his revenge for all of Sherlock's infuriating eccentricities. He had acquired a number of new cake foundations in order to do his best work with Sherlock's unusually pale skin tone, and decided that the appropriate time to test them on him was while the man was lying on the couch one afternoon in a shaft of sunlight. His eyes were closed and he was very still, but John knew by now that he wasn't sleeping, but thinking deeply about whatever case he had this week. John paid some attention to Sherlock's work outside of the fashion world, but didn't allow himself to get too invested, since he could tell it would fascinate him and he couldn't afford to be distracted, with the amount of work he was doing for Trevor & Donovan.

Sherlock sighed softly as John sat on the coffee table, set down his tray of products, and selected a brush. He held the cakes one at a time up to the part of Sherlock's arm that was exposed where the sleeve of his t-shirt had been rumpled, carefully not touching him. Light Ivory, Geisha, Ecru, Bisque. They were all pinker than Sherlock's skin, which was nearly translucent in the bright light. He sighed and picked up a few crème pots: Porcelain, Rice Paper, Alabaster.

John unscrewed the tops from the three foundations, and decided against using the brush. He rubbed a finger in Porcelain, and gently applied it to Sherlock's bicep.

There was a yelp and a flurry of movement, and John couldn't contain his laughter and let himself collapse with giggles as Sherlock looked at him with an unusual expression that seemed to combine peevishness, horror, confusion, and amusement. “What the bloody hell was that?”

“I'm working!” John gasped, still laughing. “You were holding so nice and still, I thought I'd try out this new makeup that arrived.”

Sherlock grabbed his bicep with his other hand and pulled it so he could glare at the foundation. “This isn't my colour.”

“Your colour is Clown White, but that's not what Victor wants,” John snickered. “My job is to make you look perfect.”

“There's nothing wrong with how I look.”

“In the real world, no. But this is fashion, Sherlock. Different rules apply.”

Sherlock sniffed and rearranged himself on the couch, casting a sidelong glance at John. “Why the arm?”

“You're shooting a teaser campaign in a couple weeks, which you would know if you could be bothered to listen while the rest of us are talking at the studio. In this campaign, you'll be wearing very little. I've got your face sorted but I haven't worked on your body yet.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “How little?”

“God, you really weren't listening at all.” John's neck prickled with heat. “Ideally nothing, though of course they'll shoot artistically so your knob isn't actually part of the ad.”

“Of course.”

“You don't have horrible body acne or anything, do you?”

“Not since I was a teen.”

“Scarring?”

“No.”

John took more foundation on his finger and continued applying it to Sherlock, who didn't twitch away this time. “You'll have to shave, too. Or wax. Might actually be worth it, since you'll be doing a lot of this for the foreseeable future.”

Sherlock groaned. “Exactly how hairless do I have to be?”

John shrugged. “You'll have to ask Victor that one, but I'd guess there will be some fairly serious manscaping involved, depending on how hairy you are. Definitely everything above the waist, possibly legs. They may even want to do something with your eyebrows.”

Sherlock jerked away and gave John a look of horror. “ _No._ I will not do anything to my face that doesn't wash off.”

John gave him a gentle smile. “Easy. I'm sure if there's anything, it'll be very minor. Victor knows what you look like. That's why he picked you.”

Sherlock started to relax, but warily. John wetted his large sponge and decided to try out the Bisque. “Now hold still. I don't really want this to get on the couch.”

He worked in silence for a while, slowly but surely covering Sherlock's arm. The cake blended well between the parts that had crème foundation and the parts that didn't, which John considered a success. “D'you think Victor wants your spots covered?”

“My spots?”

“Moles.” John poked a couple. “You've got a bunch I can see, and I'd wager plenty more under your clothes. I can cover them fairly easily, but it might be that he wants them, especially that one by your eyebrow and the one on your neck. They've got great character.”

Sherlock snorted. “Maybe while you're at it, you can give them a dermatological once-over. Did you learn that in med school? Mycroft keeps bothering me to have it done.”

John paused as he remembered Sherlock's brother, who had visited them the day after John moved in and featured in John's memory as someone who was very used to people doing as he told them. “Skin cancer run in your family?”

“No, but he worries, and it's annoying.”

John's mouth curled into a little smile. “I imagine it is.”


	4. Starstruck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter: [Starstruck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NY1vH-_-GKk)

“Oh, it's gorgeous!”

John and Sherlock both jumped, and John's brush skittered across Sherlock's back, leaving a wobbly blue line. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Victor as John reached for a sponge and started dabbing away the error.

“Oh, sorry,” Victor said. “It's just so exciting to see it actually happening, you know?”

“I'm sure,” John said, and Sherlock grumbled under his breath. “Shut up, Sherlock.”

“But I'm _bored_.”

“We're almost ready to start,” Victor said. “The photographer's here, and they're just about finished setting up. How much more time do you need, John?”

John leaned back, taking in the delicate lacy pattern he'd spent the last hour creating across most of Sherlock's back. “Ten minutes, maybe? Then another five to finish up his face.”

“Fantastic. Sherlock, when you're done here, we've got a couple more pairs of shoes we want you to try.”

“Awfully last-minute, isn't it?”

“Just do as you're told, dear.”

Sherlock huffed, and John snickered.

 

The photo shoot was a whirlwind of activity. John noticed that while Sherlock required much more direction than the other models he'd worked with, his results were nothing short of stunning. Victor and Sally were chasing a gender-ambiguous look with their new collection, and Sherlock slipped between masculine and feminine characters like a chameleon. It gave John chills, seeing his flatmate so quickly become a stranger while the cameras clicked, and then flip back to himself in the short breaks when John touched up his hair or back piece.

They finally finished, and John went to work removing the makeup that covered most of Sherlock's body. Sherlock grabbed a damp cloth and helped, finishing with his legs by the time John had cleaned his back.

Sherlock buttoned his jeans just as Victor stepped around the curtain with two cups of tea, and John quickly wiped off Sherlock's lipstick before he could take a sip. “That was fabulous,” Victor gushed. “Really wonderful. We should have the proofs in a few days. I'll let you know when they arrive, and you can come in then. In the meantime, take a couple days off. You've been working really hard.”

“Thank you,” John said. “Are you sure--”

“Hush,” Sherlock scolded. “I've got cases waiting that need my attention.”

 

Three days later, John and Sherlock were enjoying a lazy morning in their flat when the doorbell rang insistently. They looked at one another across the kitchen table, and with a sigh, John wrapped his dressing gown more closely around himself and went down to the front door.

“John!” Victor burst through the door, quickly embracing his makeup artist. “Is Sherlock in? The proofs are here and I just _have_ to show you.”

“Yeah, he's upstairs. Come on in.”

Sherlock was still slouching in his chair when they arrived. “Hello, Victor. The proofs are that good, are they?”

“Just wait until you see them!”

John cleared a couple of plates from the table, and Victor produced a folder from his bag. John and Sherlock stared as he laid the pages on the table.

“Oh my god,” John breathed.

“That's really me?” Sherlock picked up the head shot.

Victor beamed. “That's really you. Hardly any photoshop, either. Just white balance really. The photos were perfect.”

Sherlock set it down and picked up another. “John, this work you did on my back … I had no idea.”

“It's perfect, isn't it?” Victor said. “You're a miracle worker, John.”

“It's certainly a departure from what I'm used to. I'd love to have some copies of these for my portfolio, if I could.”

“Two steps ahead.” Victor pulled another folder from his bag and handed it to John. “These are all un-retouched. Now, we can't rest on our laurels too long. I'll need you both to come in again tomorrow. This campaign is all set which means we really need to get working on our preview in a month.” He moved towards the door. “Sorry I can't stay, I've got to get back to the studio. See you tomorrow at nine!” He breezed down the steps while John and Sherlock were still frozen around their table, staring at their creation.

John shook himself. “Well. That's a job well-done.”

Sherlock was still enthralled by the photographs. “I had no idea I could look like that. How did you make me look so good?”

“It wasn't all me. You're naturally good-looking, I just emphasized your best features.”

Sherlock looked at him, and it took John a couple moments to realized what he had just said. “Oh, god, I mean--”

“Oh, no. It's fine,” Sherlock said quickly. “It's really fine. I just … I'm not used to being attractive.”

“I don't know where you've been for the last thirty years, Sherlock, but you _are_ attractive.” Sherlock gave him an unreadable look, and John cleared his throat awkwardly. “Let me put these away. I'd hate to spill tea on them.”

John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him as he gathered the photos and tried not to blush under what he now recognized as Sherlock's deductive scrutiny. By the time he returned downstairs from his bedroom to take a shower, Sherlock had hidden himself away. John turned the water colder than he usually liked, and failed to not see those images of his friend every time he closed his eyes.

Please do not repost image.

Rebloggable and high-res at [my Tumblr](http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/46951982449/inspiration-illustration-for-eyeliner-and).


	5. Bad Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated MATURE.
> 
> Music for this chapter: [Bad Romance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTFh8LCBZeQ)

The weeks leading up to the preview were some of the craziest John had ever known. Victor and Sally had him designing different body paint for each of the twelve models, and two different looks for Sherlock. By the time the day finally arrived, both the artist and the model were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

Sherlock had been the first in John's chair earlier in the evening, and he was the last as Victor bustled through one last time before the show began. “Five minutes!” he called, and laid a hand on John's shoulder. “About ready here?”

“Yeah,” John said. “Just setting the bits of body paint that will be under the first outfit.”

“Excellent, wonderful.” He leaned down to look Sherlock in the eye. “You're up first, and then you're back to John for the fastest change of your life, and after your second turn you'll wait for me and walk out with me at the end. Got it?”

“I had it the first time.”

“Don't you sass me, Sherlock Holmes.” He smiled and stood up. “You guys are _rockstars_. See you in a few.”

Sherlock was ready when the music started, an eerie vision of gender-bending beauty in a suit made of dense violet lace over nearly-sheer black silk, and one of the more unusual pairs of shoes that John had come across.

He did his turn on the runway, and as soon as he was backstage he had leapt out of the shoes. By the time he made it back to John, Greg had stripped the rest of the outfit and was fastening the pearl buttons on navy chiffon trousers. He held as still as possible while John touched up the vine of morning glories that curled over his shoulder and onto his chest. John used his fingers to smudge smoky eyeshadow on his face, then pressed a tube of lipstick into his hand. “Put that on while I fix your hair.” Sherlock obeyed silently, and John finished with the head piece just as Greg returned with another pair of shoes. He and Sherlock worked together to fasten them in five seconds flat, and then he was back out on the runway.

The audience roared with applause as Victor and Sally appeared and took Sherlock's arms, then led him out again. They were backstage again a few moments later. Sally beamed at John before she disappeared back out into the crowd, and Victor was practically bouncing with joy. “That was _unbelievable_! God, it was fantastic. Amazing!”

Sherlock dropped into John's chair with a long-suffering sigh, and started rubbing at his body paint with the sponge John offered.

“Right,” Victor said, calming himself slightly. “I need both of you out there with me as soon as humanly possible. Sherlock, you are glued to my side. John, you don't have to be glued to me but I want you to stick close. Get the body paint off and tone down the eye makeup, then Sherlock, I actually have a new shirt for you.” He gestured to the shirt that was hanging on the curtain rod, in deep aubergine silk with a large lace panel on the back and a matching button placket. “You've got your Spencer Hart trousers and Yves Saint Laurent shoes?”

“I never leave home without them,” Sherlock murmured drily. “Jacket?”

“No jacket,” Victor said. “And leave those top three buttons open. I know you do anyway but--”

“We've got it, Victor,” John said. “We'll be just a few minutes.”

Victor paused as he assessed John's look. “Could you –?”

“I've got a blue satin shirt and dress trousers,” John reassured him. “I won't go out there in jeans and a ratty tee.”

Victor left, and John worked silently on Sherlock for a few minutes, cleaning most of the product off his face before reapplying a bit of contouring and eyeliner and touching up his lips. “Right, I think you're ready.”

Sherlock groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” John said, holding out the trousers. “Shimmy your skinny arse into these and then we'll pour you into that shirt.”

Sherlock dressed without further protest, and John brushed a bit of glitter out of his hair before he sent him out. “You go on ahead. I'll change and be right behind you.”

Sherlock squeezed his shoulder, and gave him a smile that was small but genuine. “Do hurry.”

“Get!” John patted his rear as he pushed him away, then sat heavily in the chair as he realized what he'd just done. “Oh god.”

He came to terms with his mortification as best he could in the time available, then quickly changed his clothes and spent a few moments trying to do something to his hair before he decided he looked his best, and went out into the crowd.

For nearly two hours John and Sherlock trailed around after Victor, being pleasant to an enormous variety of people and stuffing canapes into their mouths whenever they could. Finally they were without a guest, and Victor turned to them. “Thank you both _so much_ for your work tonight. This was an enormous success. I'll let you both go now, take it easy, and I'll see you on Tuesday, yeah?”

“Thank you, Victor,” Sherlock said stiffly.

“Don't mind him,” John said. “I'm glad we could be helpful.”

Victor grinned. “Stop pretending you like this; get out of here.”

 

_[Larger and rebloggable at Tumblr](http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/47257392866/illustration-for-eyeliner-and-cigarettes) _

Sherlock took John by the arm and all but dragged him to the backstage area, where he stripped off the shirt as quickly as he could and then dropped into the chair. “Get this crap off my face, will you?”

“Be patient,” John laughed, taking off his own dress shirt. The slightly cool air felt good against his heated skin. “There's still a little staining on your back from the paint too, and I'd like to get all of that off.”

“Face first.”

“Yes, fine, face first.” He handed him a tissue for the lipstick that still remained, then started with his eyes, gently wiping away the heavy layers of makeup to reveal skin that looked tired in comparison to the artificially fresh face he'd had all evening. “You been sleeping enough this week?”

“I don't need much sleep.”

John tutted. “Yes you do. You look exhausted under all this. You should take better care of yourself.”

“Is that your medical opinion?”

“It's my opinion as your _friend_ ,” John said. “I don't want you working yourself into the ground.”

Sherlock was silent for a while, and opened his eyes with a quizzical look when John leaned back. “What?”

“You really care, don't you?”

“Of course I care. Shouldn't I?”

“Most people don't.”

John almost laughed, but for the hint of sadness in Sherlock's voice. “I'm not most people.”

“No.” He tilted his head slightly. “You're certainly not.”

In the space of a heartbeat he was out of the chair and crowding John against the counter, his fingers hesitantly trailing along John's bare sides as he put his arms around his waist.

John's breath caught in his chest. “What are you--”

He was cut off by an insistent press of lips, and quickly forgot whatever protest he had been about to offer as his hands found Sherlock's shoulders and he pressed against him, chest to knee, deepening the kiss with ardour.

Sherlock shifted, and something hard pressed against John's hip. He broke the kiss with a gasp, looking up at his friend. “Sherlock ...”

“Please don't tell me I've got it wrong,” Sherlock whispered.

John shook his head. “No, you haven't got it wrong.” He cupped Sherlock's cheek. “I'm just ...”

“Surprised?”

He considered a moment. “Not … not exactly. More like … this is awfully sudden?”

“Oh, please.” Sherlock leaned in so that he was breathing into John's ear. “It's not really that sudden, is it? This has been building for weeks.”

John's eyes drifted shut. “Why now?”

“Why not? We're here, we're alone, and I figure we only have a couple of hours before we both crash.” He pressed a searing kiss into the side of John's neck. “I'd like to make the most of that time.”

John shivered. “I think ...” He took Sherlock's head in his hands, and pulled him back just far enough to look him in the eye. “I think I'd like that too.”

Sherlock's face broke into a delighted grin, and then they were kissing again in a crash of lips and tongues and mingled gasping breaths. John worked a hand between them, undoing both of their trousers and pushing Sherlock's down over his round ass before taking two handfuls of it and grinding against him.

Sherlock groaned. “You keep that up, I won't last.”

“Good,” John breathed. “Neither will I.”

Sherlock fumbled a bit with John's trousers, but before too long he had his long fingers wrapped around both of their cocks, and with another deep kiss and a few rough jerks, John was gasping his release as he clung to Sherlock. The other man followed moments later, and they returned to earth as one, foreheads pressed together and breath mingling as their sweat-dampened skin began to cool.

John reached for a handful of tissues, and with one last kiss – tender this time – Sherlock lifted himself away and wiped at the mess.

“Good thing you took that shirt off,” John said. Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow. “It's just that I'd hate to explain that particular stain to Victor.”

Sherlock chuckled as he fell back into the chair. “God knows he's dealt with his fair share of garments ruined by amorous activities.”

John said nothing, and Sherlock worried his lower lip between his teeth. “Um … not good?”

John avoided eye contact as he cleaned himself up and refastened his trousers. “I'd rather not … you know, remember that you and Victor have a past.”

“Sorry.” Sherlock finished his own cleanup and dropped the tissue in the bin. “It's been so long since I was in a relationship, I'd forgotten or deleted most of the details.”

John looked up at that. “How long has it been?”

Sherlock tried not to blush. “I'd say about ten years.”

“Ten years – that would put you in university.” He paused, realizing. “Was Victor your last relationship?”

“My only, actually,” Sherlock said. “I never really bothered after that. Never wanted to, until now.”

John stared for a moment, then snapped out of it and went back to the business of removing Sherlock's makeup, the remnants of which had become somewhat smeared. “Well, congratulations on breaking your dry spell, I suppose.”

“And to you,” Sherlock said. “This was your first time with another man, yes?”

John _harrumphed_ awkwardly. “Yes.”

“I suppose you've been in fashion long enough that you've come to terms with your fluid sexuality, though you hadn't any practical experience until now.”

“Yes, thank you, that's quite enough.”

Sherlock chuckled, and John smiled back, despite himself. After a few more minutes of work he declared Sherlock “good enough,” and they quickly dressed in their own clothes and got a cab in the chilly spring evening.

“You know, this is probably a really bad idea,” John said.

Sherlock looked up from his phone. “What is? Why?”

“This … us, together. We already live and work together.” He lowered his voice slightly for the cabbie's sake. “And now we're sleeping together? I'm not sure I'm ready for you to be my entire life.”

“I'm hardly your entire life, John,” Sherlock said. “We do plenty of things separately. And you can't deny that you want this.”

“Yes, but do you?”

“What? Of course I do!” He stuffed the phone into his coat pocket. “Why would you think I don't?”

John shrugged awkwardly. “I don't know, just … a feeling. Too good to be true, or something.”

“You have been very lucky recently. But believe me, John, if it's too good for you it's even more for me.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “I told you it's been a decade since I last had a boyfriend. And that's … it's good, it's very good, being with you in this way.”

He touched the back of John's hand, and John turned it over to lace their fingers together.

Sherlock smiled at him in the low light of the cab. “But even if we weren't … _this_ , even if it were purely innocent, you're the first real friend I've had in a long time. Possibly ever.”

“Oh, come on,” John said with a laugh. “You don't need to flatter me that much.”

“No, it's true,” Sherlock insisted. “I never made friends easily as a child. Victor came the closest, when we were younger, but even he never got as close as you have. And after we broke up, I just didn't bother. I find most people intolerable to spend much time with, but you? You're so different, John. I've been trying to figure out what it is about you, but you're difficult. Tricky.” He squeezed John's hand. “The best sort of puzzle.”

They passed the rest of the ride in companionable silence. Sherlock tossed far too much cash at the cabbie when they arrived back in Baker Street, and herded John inside and upstairs. But when he leaned in for a kiss, John held him back gently with a hand in the centre of his chest.

Sherlock seemed frightened. “What is it?”

John shook his head. “Nothing like that, I promise.” He leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips. “But I think I know what you want and I'm really tired. I'm not up for any more tonight.”

Sherlock's fear quickly evaporated. “Oh.”

John smiled and stroked the side of his face. “Yeah, _oh_. Tonight was wonderful, Sherlock, but I really need to go to bed.”

“I understand.” Sherlock nodded. “I don't suppose you … would sleep with me? Just to sleep.”

John chuckled. “I'm not ready for that just yet.”

Sherlock gave a little disappointed smile. “I understand.”

“No you don't.”

“No, I don't,” he agreed ruefully.

“I just need a little space,” John explained. “I … I really like you. But I also need to take this slow. Okay?”

Sherlock nodded. “Okay.” He gave John a tender kiss. “Good night.”

“Good night.”


	6. Fame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter: [The Fame](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sz7N70IU6EE)

John and Sherlock spent their weekend holed up in the flat, drinking tea and eating takeaway and exploring one another's bodies very, _very_ thoroughly. John felt a bit like he was a teenager again, particularly after the very memorable afternoon when Sherlock got him off twice in rapid succession, and then a third time a mere twenty minutes later. John had spent the next several hours lying boneless in Sherlock's bed while his partner did god-knew-what in the kitchen, and John found he really didn't care.

Tuesday came far too soon, and they arrived at the Trevor & Donovan studio to find it bustling nearly as busily as it had been in the lead-up to the preview. Anderson shouted for Sally, who rushed out to reception and took the phone from him and launched into a conversation in French. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and John gave Anderson a quizzical look.

“Phone's been ringing off the hook,” he explained. “You two were apparently the storm nobody expected.” He tapped Sally on the shoulder and mouthed _coffee?_ She nodded, and he picked up his bag. “Victor's waiting for you!” he called over his shoulder as he left.

John looked at Sherlock, who was shrugging out of his coat. “I can never remember his first name,” John admitted under his breath.

“He doesn't use one,” Sherlock replied, leading the way into the large studio space. “It's Leslie, but you didn't hear it from me.”

“Sherlock! John!” Victor waved them over. “Have a seat, please. Sorry we're so busy, our preview was a much bigger success than we anticipated, thanks in no small part to the two of you.”

John and Sherlock sat on the couch beside Victor's desk, and accepted cups of coffee. “There are several magazines who are just _desperate_ to interview the both of you. I told them all I'd have to check with you first but they've been really breathing down my neck.”

John's eyes widened as Sherlock's narrowed. “They want to interview us?”

Sherlock crossed his arms. “I can't imagine anything more tedious.”

“Oh, please, Sherlock,” Victor entreated. “It _will_ be boring, but it will be fantastic for the business. I'll even let you be yourself, to some extent. Aloof and mysterious is exactly what they want. Just don't be a dick?”

Sherlock sighed. “I can try, I suppose.”

“What about me?” John asked. “They really want to interview me?”

“Of course they do! Your makeup stole the show, and you're all but unknown. Plus your story is fascinating. How many other people in the fashion business are combat veterans? Not many, I'm sure.”

Sherlock sighed. “I suppose I don't have much say in the matter?”

“That's a good little model,” Victor cooed, and Sherlock sneered at him. “I'll have Anderson return a few calls, ask them to come by tomorrow.”

“But?” Sherlock prodded.

Victor hesitated for a moment, then sat on the corner of the desk. “Two rules. One, don't give _any_ details about what we're working on. I'll try to have anything sensitive hidden when they come, so keep mum about that. They probably won't ask, but _no comment_ is your friend here.”

“What's rule number two?” John asked.

Victor looked between them and bit his lip, then took a deep breath. “Your relationship. Don't bring it up. As far as the public knows, you're colleagues and flatmates, but definitely _not_ shagging. I've told everyone here so they're not caught off-guard, and they're all sworn to secrecy. We don't want this to overshadow the collection.”

John turned bright red as his mouth fell open, but Sherlock merely smirked. “Very good, I did teach you something after all.”

“How the bloody hell did you know?” John demanded. “It's only been, what, four days? And this is the first we've seen you since then.”

“I observed,” Victor said mildly, and Sherlock nodded his approval. “Body language, mostly. It's been a while coming, though I'm a bit surprised it took so long. And then lingering backstage after the preview … I know the smell of sex. Bit of a giveaway.”

John covered his face with his hands. “Just kill me now.”

“Sherlock's a skilled lover, John, once you get past the first desperate fumble. You're a very lucky man.”

“I am not hearing this!” He leapt to his feet and stomped across the studio, leaving Victor and Sherlock chuckling behind him.

“Bit of an identity crisis? My gaydar is almost never wrong, and I had him pegged as straight.”

“So did he. Bisexual, probably, but he's fine with it. No, this is just normal embarrassment.”

Victor looked at Sherlock fondly. “I'm very happy for you. He's a good man.”

“He is.” Sherlock watched as John busied himself with nothing amongst the other employees. “I hope I can be as good as he deserves.”

“If I know you, Sherlock – and I'm fairly sure I do – you can do anything if you care to.” He stood up, but hesitated. “Just … don't hurt him, all right? Like you did me.”

Sherlock could only stare as Victor walked away.

 

_Up-and-coming menswear designers **Trevor & Donovan** stunned London's fashion scene at their Autumn/Winter preview with a mysterious model, **Sherlock Holmes** , and body paint designs by **John Watson** , a makeup artist who until now was known only in certain menswear circles for his concealer work. **POP** caught up with them at the Trevor  & Donovan studio._

 

 

__

_  
__Holmes (right) and Watson (left)  
_ _at the Trevor & Donovan studio._  
[(Tumblr)](http://ladymac111.tumblr.com/post/47382411437/illustration-for-chapter-6-of-eyeliner-and)

**POP:** Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview, I can see you're very busy!

 **JOHN WATSON:** It's our pleasure; we're very flattered.

 **P:** Sherlock, I understand that your work with Trevor  & Donovan is your first foray into modelling. What do you normally do?

 **SHERLOCK HOLMES:** A number of things. I'm a substitute violinist for the Royal Opera and Ballet, and I also work as a private detective, though I've had less time for that since I started modelling.

 **P:** How did you get involved here?

 **SH:** I knew Victor [Trevor] and Sally [Donovan] at university. Victor contacted me out of the blue several months ago and begged me to come work for him. My other jobs weren't paying very well at the time and I had just moved to a new flat, so I agreed.

 **P:** At the time? And now?

 **SH:** I've actually quit playing the violin and I haven't had much time to devote to detective work, as we've been so busy here.

 **P:** So now you're a full-time professional model, what do you think of it?

 **SH:** It's spectacularly dull.

_[John laughs at this, and Sherlock scowls at him.]_

**P:** Victor has said that you're his muse. That doesn't keep you busy?

 **SH:** From time to time, though there's a dreadful amount of holding perfectly still involved.

 **P:** Other than the boredom, what do you think about being the inspiration for such a groundbreaking collection?

 **SH:** _[Shrugs.]_ I really do very little except help Sally to calm Victor when he gets over-excited. I stand where they say and wear what they give me and walk when they tell me.

 **P:** What do you think of the fashion? This collection is rather more flamboyant than what you're wearing now, even excluding the couture pieces. You're quite well-dressed though.

 **SH:** _[Looks at his own outfit, seems surprised. He is wearing a slim-cut black Spencer Hart suit with a violet Dolce & Gabbana shirt and Yves Saint Laurent Oxford shoes.]_ I honestly don't think about fashion very much. I've found clothes that give the impression I wish to convey, and I wear them.

 **P:** So you don't wear Trevor  & Donovan?

 **SH:** Only when I'm paid to.

 **P:** John, I understand you two are flatmates. Does he dress like this at home?

 **JOHN WATSON:** _[Laughs.]_ When the mood suits him. The rest of the time he's lying around in pyjamas and a dressing gown, when he can be bothered to get dressed at all. You saw at the preview he doesn't have any qualms about nudity.

 **P:** _[Laughs.]_ We certainly did! How did you two come to be flatmates?

 **JW:** It was after Victor hired me. Sherlock mentioned he was looking for a flatmate, and I was looking to move closer to the centre of London _._ I fell in love with the flat immediately, it's got a delightful Victorian feel.

 **SH:** Some parts are original, over a hundred years old.

 **JW:** Only the good bits, though. The rest has been updated. I'm certainly glad we're sharing, I'd never be able to afford it on my own.

 **P:** John, tell us a bit about your career.

 **JW:** Gosh, where do I begin? My work as a makeup artist started after I was invalided out of the Army.

 **P:** You were a soldier?

 **JW:** Yeah, a medic, actually. But I got shot in the shoulder in Afghanistan and they sent me home. I was trying to find something to do with myself after that, and my sister jokingly suggested I study cosmetology. The joke's on her, though!

 **P:** Obviously you took to it.

 **JW:** I was surprised how much I loved it, and even more surprised that I was actually good at it. I got my first work in fashion doing concealer jobs for small-time photo shoots and runway shows, mostly covering blemishes and tattoos. That was how I first started working for Trevor  & Donovan. Then they asked me to do Sherlock when he first arrived, I think because they needed a specialist to cover that awful thing on his neck.

 **P:** I'd noticed that; what is it?

 **SH:** Musicians call it a violin hickey. Irritation from my chin rest.

 **JW:** It's faded a bit recently, since you've stopped playing so much. Makes my job a bit easier. It was a rude surprise that first time, though.

 **SH:** Victor never apologized to you for that, did he?

 **JW:** No, but he offered me the partnership the next week, so I forgave him.

 **P:** You've been partnering with Trevor  & Donovan on this collection.

 **JW:** Yes, designing body paint and other makeup for their shows and ad campaign. It's been brilliant work, the sort of stuff I always wanted to do but never figured I'd get hired for.

 **P:** You certainly don't fit the image of a typical makeup artist.

 **JW:** I really don't, do I? _[Laughs. He is wearing a faded Sex Pistols t-shirt and dark jeans, both of which have makeup stains; his feet are bare and he is wearing no makeup.]_ I've experimented with being more fashionable in my daily life, but it just doesn't suit me. I do love Trevor  & Donovan's designs, though.

 **P:** What about your personal lives? Anyone special sharing this with either of you?

 **JW:** God, no, I've been far too busy. I hardly even talk to my sister these days.

 **SH:** I find relationships to be a waste of time, generally.

 **JW:** We've mostly just got each other. It works, though. We're happy.

 **P:** Well, congratulations on your recent success, and we're hoping to see more of your work in the near future.

 **SH:** Thank you.

 **JW:** Thanks very much.


End file.
